


Angelus Mortis

by Arlome



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Birth, F/M, Original Character Death(s), Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: After one of his patients dies in childbirth, Dwight returns home to his pregnant wife.





	Angelus Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fuckyeahdwightcaroline's second Carolight prompt week on Tumblr. Prompt:Death.  
> Wilkins the butler makes a small comeback:)

Young Mrs. Cook, aged 23, died on the eve of October 7th in childbirth. The newborn son, her first and last, preceded her in death.

Dwight was called away from his supper to attend on the laboring miner's wife when the local midwife had done a terrible job of delivering the poor girl of her babe and could do no more for both. 

"I didna' wish to disturb ye, Sur," said her husband, wringing his hat in his hands, standing so out of place in the parlor of Killwarren, as Dwight hastily packed his bag, "but our Bettie's been hurting so awfully bad, and ol' Mrs. Clemens done more harm than good." 

"Nonsense, John," Dwight said to the man, putting on his hat and hurrying towards the stables, "I'm glad to be of service to you." 

"Bless ye, Sur," the younger man breathed and placed his own hat on his disheveled head, "yer a rare gent, Dr. Enys; Bettie and me are awfully thankful that ye take the trouble to see to the likes of we."

"Do you ride, John?" Dwight asked hurriedly, nipping the torrent of gratitude in the bud, "we have a pony you could use if a horse is too much trouble."

They rode away in haste, speaking little on the way. The evening chill crept into their bones, freezing men and horses alike, as they made their way to Grambler Village. When they reached the little cottage, night had already fallen, and Dwight could see through the tiny window that the residents inside lit a few precious candles to drive away the shadows. He jumped off the horse, hurrying inside; not even waiting for John to get off his pony.

The cottage had one room; in the corner stood a bed where now lay young Bettie Cook in an almost dead faint, on dirty sheets smeared with blood. A woman Dwight recognized as her mother sat by her side and mopped the girl's head with a filthy rag, while another woman – Mrs. Clemens, no doubt – was pushing down on her abdomen, in an attempt to help drive the child out.

Dwight threw his bag on the edge of the bed and hurried towards the woman.

"Step aside, Madam," he ordered and gently, but firmly, pushed Mrs. Clemens out of the way. He looked down at the prostrate girl and felt her pulse; it was faint and erratic. The young woman was very close to dying.

John, who was left at the door, now took a few hesitant steps inside the cottage. His face was white as a sheet, and his hat was back in his worrying hands.

"Don't ye worry, Bettie dear," he muttered in a broken voice, "for Dr. Enys' here, to set ye right."

The young woman, no doubt roused from the realm of oblivion by the power of her husband's voice, blinked a few times and fixed her vacant eyes on Dwight; or at least, in his general direction. 

"S-save my child, S-sur," she stammered, her voice as faint as an echo, "s-save my child."

_Easier said than done_ , thought Dwight grimly and set at the edge of the bed.

"My concern is for you both," he said and smiled faintly, "now, feet up, Bettie; feet up."

In the end, the girl was too weak to move, and it took both the mother and the failing midwife to hold the girl's folded knees in place. A quick examination provided Dwight with all he needed to know. The child was stuck inside the birth channel, unable to move forward; no doubt slowly killing the young woman who lay in excruciating pain on the filthy bed. The child was likely dead itself, for who knew how long it was stuck in this awful position; losing precious oxygen, its tiny brain damaged beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Dwight reached for his forceps with a heavy heart; a few tugs proved him right. 

The child was blue and lifeless in his hands, never even drawing its first breath in the world. He had a nice head of copper hair; tiny wisps of gold that clung to the small, veiny skull. Dwight wrapped up the still babe in a blanket and passed it to the whimpering grandmother; softly, as if it was the most precious cargo in the world. John collapsed into a chair.

An hour later, Bettie Cook died from complications.

Dwight rode home in gloomy silence, the pony he'd offered John tied to his horse.

The man had tried to pay him for his services; pushing a whole basket of fresh eggs into the doctor's hands.

_Ye've done yer job, surgeon_ , John had said, his voice hollow and his eyes empty, _no matter the outcome._

Dwight protested vehemently. _He would not accept the payment, wouldn't dream of it. No, no, it was quite out of the question._ The basket was placed down gingerly on the ground between the two men.

"Are ye a father, Dr. Enys?" John asked when the silence stretched before them, endless like an open field. Dwight looked away uneasily and cleared his throat.

"I- um, I am about to be," he concluded, carefully avoiding the younger man's eyes, "my wife expects her confinement in two months' time."

"Well, then," said John and extended his hand; Dwight met the man's open gaze and shook it firmly, "I pray that the child is born well and that yer wife be hale, Sur; 'twas good of ye to come." 

Dwight reached the stables of Killwarren in near-silence and entered the warm, welcoming home with a full head and a heavier heart. He took off his hat and coat and placed them into the waiting hands of Wilkins, the family butler, who looked at the weary doctor with a good amount of compassion. 

"Bad day, Sir?" asked the older man quietly.

"The worst, I'm afraid," answered Dwight in a similar tone and with a faint smile to the butler that didn't quite reach his eyes, turned to head into the parlor. 

Despite the late hour and the somewhat stifling warmth of the room, Dwight found Caroline reading in an armchair before the fire.

She didn't notice his entrance, being spellbound by her book as she was; her pink muslin dress, made according to the latest fashion in London, hugging her lovely, slightly extended, form. Caroline's left hand was pressed firmly to her side, a look of decided concentration on her face. _No doubt the child is making her restless,_ Dwight thought, finally moving into the light.

Caroline turned at the sound of his footsteps, her frown turning into a smile.

"Oh, finally," she exclaimed and extended the hand that was formerly pressed against their unborn child to him, "you are home at last!"

When he came to stand before her, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly, Caroline's smile faltered.

"Dwight; what is it, my love?" she asked, tugging on his hand, "you look as if you've seen the Angel of Death."

He sighed and knelt before her, taking her hand and placing it against his cheek; her warm skin hot against his cool face.

"Oh, I have," he said quietly and leaned into her touch, "I have."

Caroline simply ran her other hand through his hair and waited for him to speak.

"Bettie Cook and her child died tonight," Dwight sighed at last, "I couldn't save them."

The hand in his hair stilled for a few seconds before resuming its soothing movement.

"Oh, Dwight," Caroline breathed quietly and bent, with considerable difficulty, to kiss the crown of his head, "you cannot blame yourself."

"She was attended by a local, ignorant midwife who couldn't deliver the child," he continued as if Caroline didn't speak, "by the time I got there, it was already too late; the child was stuck in the birth channel for too long and the blood loss-"

Dwight stopped speaking when he felt the hand in his hair shake violently. He looked up to see his wife green in the face, her gaze glued to the floor.

_Idiot,_ he berated himself, _damned fool!_

He reached out to touch her shoulder softly.

"Forgive me, my darling," he said and squeezed her arm, "I shouldn't have said anything! Are you ill? Do you need to vomit?"

Caroline shook her head and turned to give him a weak smile.

"No, no; 'tis quite passed," she said, her breathing shallow, "I am well again…but you, Dwight; you are not."

He smiled at her and bent to kiss her on the lips.

"It will pass," he reassured her, "I just wish…I just wish they'd have sent for me sooner; then Bettie and her child might have lived."

"No doubt her husband berates himself enough over this fact," Caroline said and placed her hands in her lap, "there is no need for you to share the guilt."

"I cannot help it, Caroline," Dwight said stubbornly and rose from his position at her feet, "you know how I feel about my patients."

"I do," she said, nodding, "I do know. But _this_ – this is something else, my dear; and it doesn't take a doctor to understand what troubles you."

He regarded her with a frown. She still looked faintly green and apprehensive, but her resolve was stronger than her countenance.

"What troubles me, _Dr. Enys?"_ he asked her cheekily and was relieved to see the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

"I do," she said, looking earnest and resigned, "or, rather; _this_ does."

Her hands came to rest on the hill of her abdomen, pressing tightly for a moment, and then sliding back to her lap.

"Nonsense," he said tightly, "I am thrilled at the prospect of becoming a father to our child."

Caroline rolled her eyes and turned to look at the fire.

"I did not mean to imply that you are not. What I meant was that you are afraid that the child and I will die in childbirth, with you being powerless to prevent it."

Dwight's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat; he suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Caroline turned back to him, her eyes afire.

"Well, you are mistaken," she said firmly, "our child will be safely delivered into its father's hands, and its mother shall recover abominably fast from the entire ordeal and think nothing of it merely two hours after it is done. After all, I did not marry you for your fine eyes; Dr. Enys." 

She was smiling that alluring, sarcastic smile of hers that first so utterly secured him. Dwight kneeled before her again and stared straight into her eyes, bypassing the cynicism and sharp wit and heading straight for the emotions hidden underneath.

"I am afraid, Caroline," he admitted quietly, "scared out of my wits that I-"

She took his face in her hands and smoothed his cheeks with her thumbs. Her smile turned gentle and loving again, and Dwight found himself closing his eyes.

"So am I," she admitted finally, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, "but isn't it reassuring, being frightened together?" 

Dwight lifted his chin, alining their lips together, sinking into the warmth of her soft lips. The kiss turned unchaste in a matter of moments, and he found himself rising slightly, leaning into her with desperate fervor, trying to drown out the rushing tide inside himself by breaking against her like a giant wave against a breakwater. Caroline sighed longingly into his mouth, the tip of her tongue against his lower lip, and Dwight was already thinking about _how_ best to be joined without crushing the unborn child when his wife made a muffled sound and jumped a little. Dwight broke away from the kiss to look at her quizzingly.

"What is the matter?" he asked, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.

Caroline frowned and pressed the fingers of her left hand to her side.

"Ugh," she muttered and slightly twisted her lower back, "the little fiend has taken some offense with my spleen, as it seems. Here, give me your hand."

Dwight smiled and eagerly replaced her fingers with his hand. Caroline pressed her palm against the back of his hand, and they both waited with bated breath for the inevitable. 

They did not have to wait long. A persistent, sharpened brush beneath his palm, in a series of three tiny nudges, made Dwight laugh lightly in delight and look up at his smiling wife.

"Active little fellow," he said in proud joy, "it is very good."

Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Of course _you_ would think so, Dr. Enys," she sighed dramatically, "I, on the other hand, could use a bit of a rest from all the exercise."

Dwight stood up and offered his hand to her. 

"Come then, my love," he said, the mirth still very present in his eyes, "let us retire, then. It has been a very long day, and there is nothing I want more than to conclude it with my beloved wife pressed against me in our bed."

It took some pulling and tugging, but in the end, Caroline was rescued from the clutches of the evil armchair. She pressed her fingers into her lower back and arched her shoulders; Dwight's hand brushed lovingly against her middle.

"Why on earth must human gestation take so long?" sighed his poor tormented wife. He was about to open his mouth when she stopped him, "oh, please spare me the medical explanation, Dwight; it was a rhetorical question."

"Yes, dear," he said, beyond amused, his arm coming to rest behind her back, "come, I shall help you to our room."

As they made their slow way to their chamber, Dwight allowed himself to cast his mind back to the small, now barren, cottage; with its filthy bed and its sparseness. Bettie Cook died for lack of much-needed medical attention; poverty and bad decisions took her and her child prematurely away from this world and into the next. Dwight's hand tightened against his wife's back as the shadow of fear crossed in front of his eyes momentarily, but he steeled himself against it. No, he would do anything to ensure this never happened to Caroline. He was not so full of hubris as to imagine that he could single-handily save his wife from certain death if complications arose, but he knew that he was in the best position to prevent them. When the time came, he would be by Caroline's side, guiding her through the ordeal and reassuring her both professionally and emotionally. _His_ child will be born safely, and healthy; attended by his father and receiving the best medical care available.

Dwight breathed more easily and turned to look at his wife, nodding reassuringly to himself.

Nothing bad will happen in this house when her time comes. He would stand on guard and do all he can to care for both mother and child.

He would not meet the Angel of Death in his house.


End file.
